


A Silent Vigil is as Useless as an Impotent Interference

by lamentomori



Series: Everything Tends Towards Entropy [4]
Category: Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Fluff, Fuckbuddies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-16 01:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13625649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamentomori/pseuds/lamentomori
Summary: A safe haven in a storm was what Takahashi was. An even worse storm is what he might be. The only person Marty has to rely on is what he is.





	A Silent Vigil is as Useless as an Impotent Interference

Marty knocks on the door, and spares a glance for the man five feet up the corridor, keeping watch for them both. They’re sneaking out, and away for the night. Mostly for his benefit, but a little for Takahashi’s. He’d been the one who’d collected Marty, and guided him to and along the emptiest corridors to Bullet Club's locker room. It’s him who’s made this incident possible, and Marty probably owes him for it.

“What?” Kota Ibushi in hesitant English, with a nervous expression, and trying to fill the whole doorway.

“I come in peace.” Marty thrusts the bag in his hand out, wanting to get away from here as quickly as possible. He’s there to engage in a simple transaction and leave. Things are about as apart as they can fall, and he’s been promised a pleasant distraction that he’d like to be being distracted by rather than this. Ibushi stares at the bag stupidly. He should punch that lazy eye into functioning properly, throw the bag at him, and be on his way. “Take it, so I can go.” He shakes the bag, _very_ carefully not thinking about who it belongs to, or about why Ibushi is filling the whole doorway, or why he’s damp and wearing nothing but a towel.

“Where are...Bucks?” Ibushi asks, looking annoyed about something, and Marty wants to scream, or cry, or something _ugly_.

“Not here. Fucking take it.” His voice is getting shrill, like it does when he’s too distressed. He wants away quickly, the longer he’s here the worse this is going to get. He shoves the bag at Ibushi’s chest. He doesn’t take it. Marty should let it fall to the floor. He _should_ , but that would be rude, and Omega appears from behind Ibushi. Goddamn Kenny fucking Omega, and his beautiful smile, and his gorgeous eyes, and his perfect skin, and his plump lips, and his rumpled damp hair, and his delicate, strong hands taking hold of his bag.

“Where are Matt and Nick?” He asks, and Marty shrugs. He doesn’t know. He’s fairly sure no one knows where The Bucks went. They’re not here, and that’s all he can say for certain. Omega looks at him pleadingly. Marty shakes his head, and glances at Takahashi. He’s staring up the corridor, and shifting the position of the bags on his shoulders. The action makes the ring of fading bruises on his wrist visible. At least his senpai cares enough to be physically, as well as emotionally abusive. Marty smothers a grim laugh with a hand over his face, and turns back to Omega.

“I don’t know...their hotel probably.” For a moment, a look crosses Omega’s face, something of the pretty looks he’d given Marty _that_ morning in that hotel room in Tokyo. It’s fleeting, and Marty is glad when it’s gone.

“Will you st...where’s _anyone_?” Omega has the grace to look uncomfortable, and apologetic. He can’t quite look Marty in the eye, which is beyond vindicating.

“I don’t know. I got your shit and left before anyone else showed up.” Marty shakes his head, and takes a step back. Takahashi glances over at him, offering him a supportive smile. He looks odd dressed as he is in muted tones, with a beanie pulled over the red in his hair. From behind, he could be anyone. “BTE...The Elite...it’s not Bullet Club, Kenny. Remember that.” Marty starts walking away.

“Marty!” Omega is loud enough to draw his attention, and for Takahashi to make sure he’s looking the other way so Omega doesn’t recognise him, but not for anyone else. “You remember that too, Marty, promise me!” Marty nods, but keeps walking. He owes Omega nothing, but he knows he’ll keep that unspoken promise. If only because he needs to, he doesn’t want to, but he will need to remember where the lines are. Still that’s not what he wants, he wants to run back, and scream at Omega. He wants answers, he wants assurance, he wants a leader. If he’s in a group, that group should have a leader. Omega was terrible at it, but Cody would be worse. It should be Tama, but that’s assuming that Tama will make a challenge, that’s also assuming that Omega isn’t the leader anymore, and would need a challenge. Being The Elite is a sub-faction of a sub-faction of a faction, and Cody isn’t even leader of that sub of a sub. Very probably, Cody has bitten of far more than he can chew, and Marty has no idea what to do about any of it.

“Fuck ‘em.” Takahashi bumps into Marty’s shoulder, and offers him his bag. He deliberately wraps an arm around Marty’s shoulders, and draws him closer, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.” Marty takes his bag, and hefts it onto his shoulder. Takahashi leads the way, humming some kind of sneaking tune to himself. It’s soft, quiet, and unobtrusive, which makes it the exact opposite to what Marty wants. He wants to be distracted. He’s pretty sure he _needs_ to be distracted. Something he’d assumed Takahashi would excel at, but he seems to be more focussed in getting out of the building unseen.

“Where are we going?” Marty hurries in front of Takahashi, and holds open the door out of the building for him.

“Never far away enough.” Takahashi laughs bleakly, and slams the door behind them. Marty reaches over, and takes a hold of Takahashi’s bruised wrist gently. He raises it to his lips, and presses a kiss to the faded ring of bruises. He remembers the morning Takahashi drove him to the airport, and spotting the evidence of Naito’s jealousy. He’d been torn about acknowledging it. Hiromu had still been wearing the same clothes as the night before when he’d showed up, smelling like he’d been just been fucked, and looking like he hadn’t slept. He’d been vulnerable, and delicate in ways Marty had assumed he was incapable of, and his heart had _ached_. He’d had let Hiromu shower in his hotel room, and borrow his clothes. If they’d had time, he’d have made him sleep too. The clothes Takahashi's wearing now are the ones Marty had gifted him, they’re slightly the wrong size, and not his style at all, but he seems fond enough of them for Marty to not ask for them back, and weirdly he likes seeing his clothes on Hiromu's body. He's a possessive thing sometimes, but with Hiromu it's more like giving him a shield. In Marty's clothes, he's protected on some very superficial level.

“Right now? I’ve never agreed more.” Marty twines his fingers with Takahashi’s, and lets him lead the way. They’re heading for the parking lot, and then somewhere else of Takahahsi’s choosing, his hotel room probably. Marty hasn’t any idea where they are, and doesn’t really care. Takahashi will look after him as best he can, as Marty will try to do for Takahashi. His scope for looking after Takahashi is much narrower, because his problems are tighter, and more personal, but Marty will do his best. He can’t fix Takahashi’s unfixable problems, but he can take his mind off them for a while.

The rental car is bigger than Takahashi’s own one. The interior is weirdly off beige, and the radio comes on when Takahashi starts the engine. A sullen sounding man is talking in meandering Japanese; the few words Marty picks up makes him think it’s a local story about some nearby school’s play. Marty closes his eyes, and rests his head back against the headrest. It’s almost pleasant, soothing in a way that something he could understand wouldn’t be. The words flow over him like waves on the shore. The streetlights are slightly different colour in Japan compared to England. The road signs a little unfamiliar. It’s all a comfortingly different. The little differences are reassurance that he’s achieved something with his life. If he hadn’t he wouldn’t be here. If it wasn’t for Omega he wouldn’t be here.

“Fucking Omega.” He snarls low, under his breath, but Takahashi still glances over at him. “No.” He’s learnt quickly what the little quirk of Takahashi’s eyebrow means, an open invitation to vent, even if it is aimless venting. He’s learnt from the many FaceTime calls they’ve made to each other, in such a short space of time, that Takahashi will let him rant for as long as he needs to, even when Takahashi doesn’t fully follow him, and Marty will return the favour. He’s grown fond of listening to a passionate Takahashi venting his long-standing frustrations, first in careful English, then in incomprehensible Japanese.

“You sure you don’t need a moment?” Takahashi reaches over, and ruffles Marty’s hair. “You need to shower... _I_ need to shower.” He sounds tired, like all that’s on the cards tonight is to be away from the mess that is their respective lives. Honestly, it’s not what Marty wanted, but it's all Marty needs to be on the cards. If he thinks on it, what he really wants is to collapse into a bed, wrap himself around Takahashi’s warm body, and lose himself in the scent of his shampoo. Takahashi has the nicest smelling shampoo Marty’s ever encountered, and the softest hair. On the very short list of people Marty’s happily lain in bed with, Takahashi and his wonderful hair is number one.

“That’s the plan then?” Marty absently tries to fix his hair, but gives up with a sigh. “Shower and bed?”

“Hmm.” Takahashi looks like that’s exactly what he needs. An early night, gentle handling, and plenty of sleep. “Food first. I’m hungry.” Takahashi smiles vaguely at Marty, and smothers a yawn behind a hand. “This is...there isn’t much more to fall, huh?” Marty scowls over at him, and Takahashi shrugs. “Naito and Ibushi are friends.”

“Oh?” It seems like an odd change of subject, one that has Marty wondering why Takahashi would bring it up.

“He seems... _nice_.” That statement makes Takahashi’s mentioning it more obvious. He’s trying to offer Marty some manner of subtle condolences. He’s not sure that being assured that the man who owns Omega’s heart is nice is much of a comfort, but it’s better than nothing.

“Great.” Marty finds himself sighing like a teenage girl over her first crush. “How are... _things_?” Takahashi shakes his head, his attention on the road once more. “Hiromu...are...is...he’s not…”

“Are you going to finish any of those started sentences, Marty?” Takahashi laughs, and Marty bites back another sigh. He’s not sure what he wants to any more. He wants to know that Hiromu is okay, he wants to know if things within Los Ingobernables are okay, and more importantly, he wants to know if Naito has left anymore bruises. He can see the ugly ring from this angle, and it annoys him more than he likes. Hiromu is his friend, and his friend was wounded because of him. He owes Hiromu repayment for each one of those bruises, he owes Hiromu repayment for any extra pain caused by Naito because he and Hiromu are friends. Hiromu needs to make better decisions, needs to step away from Naito. At least he only fucked Omega once. He’d do it again though. Even now. Even with _everything_ as fallen apart as it is, if Omega asked, Marty would give himself up to him easily.

“Probably not.” Marty presses back against his seat, and watches Takahashi. There’s something sentimental on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t think Takahashi would appreciate it, so Marty listens to the radio, and watches the passing lights cast odd shadows over Hiromu’s face. His mind fills with the strange sentimentality, he wants to chase the shadows away from Hiromu, he wants to chase his own malaise away, he wants good things for them both, but can't quite shake the feeling that they're not a good thing for each other in the long run.

The hotel seems almost to be in another world. Away from the arena, and enough on the outskirts of the city for the vending machines to be the only source of light, because no matter how many street lights die from neglect, Boss coffee is _always_ available.

In the hotel room, Takahashi sends Marty straight to the shower alone. He’s _slightly_ resentful of that. Takahashi needs a shower just as much as Marty does, and Marty wants to wrap himself around him. He wants to tuck his head under Takahashi’s chin, and feel nothing but the pounding of shower water and Takahashi’s gentle caresses on his back until the water runs cold. Being sent to shower on his own means he’s not getting that. He’ll have to actually bathe, it’s odd that Takahashi would insist on them doing so separately, unless he doesn’t want Marty to see him without clothes on. The thought of why he might want that makes Marty’s blood run cold. He doesn’t know Naito, but he knows he’s possessive. He knows that when surprised by him, Hiromu had panicked. He knows that there’s a mostly faded proof of ownership on Hiromu’s wrist. He knows that Hiromu, who seems to shrink from _nothing_ , will avoid talking about Naito like he thinks it’ll kill him. On a list of things that wouldn’t surprise Marty, Hiromu trying to hide more bruises from him features prominently. It’s not his place to interfere though. He’s not even sure he’d want to interfere. Takahashi is a fully grown man. He can make his own terrible decisions. Marty’s not even sure he and Hiromu are friends. They probably are. Probably. He’s definitely spoken to him more than his _friends_ as of late.

With a towel around his waist, Marty exits the little bathroom to the unexpected smell of cooking, and Takahashi scraping rice out of small cooker into a large bowl. Marty takes a seat on the edge of the bed, watching Takahashi sprinkle something on the rice, and pour a glass of water into the cooker.

“Eat.” Takahashi sets the bowl down on the bed in front of Marty, and settles down beside him. “I’ve only one bowl, so we’re sharing.” He offers a slight smile, and hands Marty one of the two spoons in his hand.

“Thanks.” Marty takes the spoon, and waits for Takahashi to take the first bite. He’s tired, and there’s a pleasantly domestic, inconsequentially charming air about the whole thing. “I can’t believe you’ve smuggled a rice cooker in here, and made dinner.” Marty chuckles, Takahashi ducks his head, and gestures to the bowl.

“Eat.” He repeats, and Marty takes a spoonful of whatever rice thing it is Takahashi’s cooked up. It tastes good, unexpectedly good. He bumps Takahashi’s shoulder.

“You’re a good cook, little Hiromu.” No matter how many times he say his name, it always feels slightly wrong, like the syllables should be formed differently. Takahashi doesn’t seem to notice though, or at least doesn’t care. The later leaves an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of Marty’s stomach, making him poke at the rice bowl absently.

“Hmm.” Takahashi’s mouth is full, but his lips are curved upwards. He taps Marty on the end of the nose, and pokes at the rice. “I know, now eat, or you’ll hurt my feelings.” Said around a mouthful of rice, and with a smile. He does as he’s told. It’s easier to do so, easier and better than paying attention to his thoughts, which are dark and miserable.

“Go shower, and I’ll wash the dishes.” Once the rice is eaten, it seems only kind to offer. The only sink in the room is the bathroom, but there’s not much to clean up, so it shouldn’t take long. Takahashi can shower whilst Marty does the dishes, and he can surreptitiously look for bruises, or he could ask. It might be easier to just ask.

“Thanks.” Takahashi flops backwards, and stretches his legs out. “I could sleep forever.”

“You stink of wrestling, and contracted misery.” Marty sets the bowl on the floor, and flops down beside him. “Go wash my woes off at least.” Takahashi combs Marty’s hair back, and offers him a vague smile.

“But we share woes...it’s what good friends do, Birdie.” He taps the end of Marty’s nose, and closes his eyes. “I should shower though.”

“Hiromu...do I fuck your name up?” Marty doesn’t often duck out from asking difficult questions, he’d been intending to ask if Naito had hurt him further, but the exhaustion on Takahashi’s face had caught him up short, leaving to ask such a lame duck of a question.

“My name?” He laughs, and Marty nods, absently moving closer so he can pet Takahashi’s hair. “No, no...it just sounds... _odd_ in your accent, you know? Why?” Marty can’t exactly say the truth, which is because I’m worried your _senpai_ has hurt you and not just in the traditional emotional way that our senpai usually do, but he can’t think of a good lie either.

“Because…” He trails off, and watches Takahashi’s face. He looks exhausted and distant, like he needs to be gathered up tight and held close. “Are you okay?” Marty twists to lie on his side, half petting Takahashi’s hair, half making sure he’s still awake. This moment feels oddly like a dream. It’s the cheap light bulb, and Hiromu’s good cooking, they’ve conspired to make Marty feel sleepy, at least he tells himself that, because the truth is that he’s frantically avoiding thinking about what happened in the arena. Sleep is infinitely preferable to contemplating the mess of Bullet Club. Sleep is infinitely preferable to anything else right then.

“Am I okay?” Hiromu laughs, and slithers down the bed to the floor. “Not in the least.” He stands, and offers Marty a hand. “Do the chores, then to bed. It’s been…” He rubs a hand over his face, and groans, looking at Marty through his splayed fingers, with a little grin on his face.

“Indeed.” Marty lets Takahashi haul him to his feet, and for a moment, Marty holds him close, his lips at his ear. “Are there any others?” He’s still holding the hand Hiromu has pulled him up with, the hand with the ring of bruises around its wrist. It seems easier to express his concern when Hiromu can’t see Marty’s eyes, because he’s certain that no matter what look is in them, he’d not want Hiromu to see it.

“Any others?” He sounds confused, and Marty kisses his temple.

“Bruises.” A shake of his head is the only answer Marty gets, but it feels like it’s enough. “Right, to the shower with you.” He lets Takahashi go, and collects the bowl from the floor. He can feel Takahashi staring at him. It’s a heavy stare, but it’s not uncomfortable. There’s a warmth in that gaze, like a thick duck-down quilt, or the parka he had when he was a kid.

As he washes the dishes, Marty learns Takahashi sings in the shower, with a soft, but dramatic voice. He might be performing for Marty’s amusement, but the curtain is drawn, and he seems hard at work bathing, ignoring Marty entirely. Marty finishes up the dishes, and sets them as artfully around the sink as he can to dry, then leaves Takahashi to his shower in peace. He chances a look at his phone, noting the almost comical amount of messages. The Bucks confirming that they’re okay, and asking if Marty is. Page hesitantly opening lines of communication. What appears to be an entire manifesto from Cody. Omega sent a message that was nothing more than a please call me when you’re up to it, which is at once disturbing and encouraging. Then there’s one message from a number he doesn’t recognise.

_Thank you for looking after him when we were apart. Please take care of yourself. I think times will be difficult, but that you will be ok. Please say hello to Hiromu-kun for me as well. Ibushi_

He’s not sure how he feels about that. Ibushi seems very sincere, and like Takahashi said, _nice_. He doubts Omega would entrust his heart and soul to someone who was less.

_Keep him better this time. I hope we’ll all be ok, even you Ibushi-san. Please forget you saw Hiromu, I think it would be for the best - Marty_

_I will. Please ask if you need help, Marty. I owe you a favour - Ibushi_

Ibushi’s rapid reply comes as a surprise, one that has Marty still sitting staring at it when Takahashi comes out of the shower.

“What?” He glances over at Marty, and Marty tosses him his phone. “Hmm...you don’t need to worry over me, Birdie.”

“You’re my friend, Hiromu.” Marty catches his phone, and sets it on the table beside the bed. “I’m going to worry about you no matter what you say.” Takahashi shakes his head, and carries on brushing his hair. “You have unreasonable hair, you know that?”

“Coming from you?” Takahashi laughs at him, and Marty finds himself pressing against Takahashi’s back, wrapping his arms around him, and resting his chin on Takahashi’s shoulder.

“ _My_ hair is normal people hair.” Marty shakes his head, and watches the mess of tangles on top of his head shift vaguely. “You’ve got some manner of god hair. Wet, dry, after a match, it still looks good. Unreasonable.” Takahashi laughs at him, and Marty squeezes him tightly. “So…”

“There’s nothing to so.” Takahashi shrugs him off, and rubs at his eyes. “My hair is reasonable, and I’m more fine than you.”

“Ha.” The finality of the statement makes Marty bark a laugh, which gets him a tap on the nose. “For a given type of fine, you are finer than me, to be honest. At least your team isn't lining up for civil war.”

“No...we’re all on the same book at least.” Takahashi tosses his towel to one corner, and gets into the bed. Marty flicks the lights out, and gets in bed too. The hotel bed is narrower, and firmer than Marty’s used to, but Takahashi is soft enough. He’s cold though. Cold, and his hair is still slightly damp. Marty gathers him up close to his chest, rubbing his hands up and down his back, trying to warm him up.

“Go to sleep, Birdie.” Takahashi sounds tired, and Marty can’t really blame him. It’s been a long day.

“Is he mad that Sanada is going after Okada?” The question comes out of the blue for Marty as much it appears to have for Takahashi. He stiffens in Marty’s arms.

“I don’t know.” He sounds slightly dazed, and Marty has the terrible feeling he might have accidentally caused incredible harm.

“It doesn’t matter. Forget I asked, it was...forget it.” Marty tangles a hand into the damp mass of Takahashi’s hair, and tilts his face up towards him. “Everything is falling apart, Hiromu...but tonight, I got you.” Oddly, Marty feels far stronger than he thought he would. Bullet Club is a mess. Omega has blatantly taken up with Ibushi once more. The Bucks are going to do who knows what. Page is definitely on Cody’s side, which is undoubtedly the wrong one. The OGs are silent on the matter. All of which leaves Marty hanging over a selection of abysses on a gossamer thread. _But_ right now, Hiromu needs him to be strong, and that feels like it'll be easy.

“If I win the belt in Osaka, chase me.” Hiromu grins up at Marty. Hotel rooms are never properly dark, so he can make out the glint of hope in Hiromu's eyes. “Chase me, so we can hold each other together. Everything can fall apart, but we can hold each other together.” He kisses him. A slow kiss that’s building to nothing, the kiss equivalent to a holding pattern. It’s nice. The first thing that’s happened in a long time that doesn’t really require anything from Marty, but his attention. The first thing that’s happened in a long time that’s just nice, that's just simple and easy, and not forced upon him.

“You gotta beat Will first though.” Marty absently strokes Hiromu’s hair back from his face. “It’s no small feat beating young William...he’s a tricky little shit.” Hiromu chuckles softly, and snuggles closer. He’s warmer now, and snugglier now, hovering on the edge of sleep.

“You got any tips, Birdie?” Hiromu chuckles softly, and nuzzles against Marty. He seems content, which makes Marty feel content.

“Don’t lose.” Marty kisses his hair, and closes his eyes. Hiromu presses a kiss to Marty’s chest, just over his heart. It’s almost undoubtedly a coincidence, almost undoubtedly not on purpose, but it feels important. Almost everything related to Hiromu feels too important, far too important for just being his fuckbuddy, far too important for just being his friend. “Don’t lose, Hiromu, don’t lose, and I’ll chase you.” Marty kisses his hair again, and ignores the minor tingle in the pit of his stomach. “And I promise, I’ll catch you.”


End file.
